Not to sound old or anything, but I can’t believe how much has changed since the last time I posted here on my own comfy little space in the interwebnet.  It has just taken me fifteen minutes to figure out how to “blog now!” as the highlighted box states, which really sounds more like something you’d recommend to a good friend after a long night of drinking.  “Really, blog now and you’ll feel better.  There, behind the Buick, by those Hurley shorts”  I’m used to banging my head against the silicon ceiling, but unfortunately all the cleverness and kicky observations I’ve been waiting to write about have now turned into stream of consciousness blog-shopping paranoia.  “Should I quit xanga?  Where would I go?  What about all this brilliance I’ve…shat here.  What will become of it?”  So now I’m just emotionally spent. 

But I will share one thing with you that made me excruciatingly happy.  Too happy, really, for what it is.

It’s a Cupcake Courier.  That’s right – it couries…carries cupcakes.  36 of them, in triple-stacked, frosting-protected, June-Cleaver-Martha-Friggin-Stewart style. 

And you know what?  I was so excited when I turned the corner in Target that I squealed.  I squealed! 

I love the cupcake.  The perfect cake-to-frosting ratio; the single-serving-no-knife-no-cutting-pieces of it; the self-contained cake-within-a-cup of it (Want the flower?  The end piece?  The middle?  Okay!)

And now, when I am called upon to provide cupcake pleasure (or muffin almost-pleasure) to children and adults alike, I will do so in style (note handy dandy handle).  No more wrangling squished overcrowded treats on rusty baking sheets.  Ha! 

More soon.  Coming attractions:  I joined the roller derby league, quit my job, have vertigo and a new band, also photos. 

Love always,
Kim